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With a sudden, wild scream the crazed Sibyl darted across the floor, and thrust her hands against the window with such violence as to burst the glass, cutting her hands severely in the operation. "Hubert! Hubert! come at last!" The girl staggered back and sank in a paroxysm to the floor. It was indeed a startling affair, yet Dyke Darrel did not lose his presence of mind.
When the train halted at Black Hollow, the station at which the terrible crime of a few days previous had been discovered, Dyke Darrel arose to go. "When shall I see you again, Dyke?" questioned Mr. Elliston. "I am not sure. I shall be in Woodburg next week." "I will see you there, then." "Very well." The detective left the train, and stood alone on the platform of the little station.
We shall note that, as a consequence, there was an increase in the number of swimming ordeals and other illegal procedures. The story of the Lancashire demonomania is not unlike the story of William Somers in Nottingham a century before. In this case there was no John Darrel, and the exorcists were probably honest but deluded men.
"Now there is the law that is for me alone," Darrel continued, looking up at the boys. "Others may eat pork or taste the red cup, or dally with hazards an' suffer no great harm not I. Good youths, remember, ill luck is for him only that is ignorant, neglectful, or defiant o' private law." "But suppose your house fall upon you," Trove suggested. "I speak not o' common perils," said the tinker.
He came to his home drunk one night and began to bully his family. I was boarding with the Misses Tower and went over and took the shot and iron from his hands and got him into bed. The woman begged me to bring them away." "He declares that he never saw the shot or the iron." Darrel rose and drew his chair a bit nearer. "Very well, but there's the wife," said he, quickly.
When I knocked at the door of the broad room above little Max Fortin opened it. Dust covered his spectacles and nose; his hat, with the tiny velvet ribbons fluttering, was all awry. "Come in, Monsieur Darrel," he said; "the mayor and I are packing up the effects of the Purple Emperor and of the poor Red Admiral." "The collections?" I asked, entering the room.
They passed a sleepless night and were up early, packing to leave the woods. Darrel was to go in quest of the boy's father. Within a week he felt sure he should be able to find him. They skirted the pond, crossing a long ridge on its farther shore. At a spring of cool water in a deep ravine they halted to drink and rest.
Every winter the mare was rented for easy driving and Darrel made his journeys afoot. Twice a day Trove passed the little shop, and if there were a chalk mark on the dial, he bounded upstairs to greet his friend. Sometimes he brought another boy into the rare atmosphere of the clock shop one, mayhap, who needed some counsel of the wise old man. Spring had come again.
Trove inquired with a puzzled look. "Well, a matter o' two hundred years," said Darrel, who was now turning the leaves. "List ye, boy, we're up to the shore an' hard by the city gates. How sweet the air o' this enchanted isle! "'And west winds with musky wing Down the cedarn alleys fling Nard and cassia's balmy smells." He quoted thoughtfully, turning the leaves.
Dyke Darrel believed he had his man in a corner, when he saw him dash through the door at the rear of the long train. Not so, however. The desperate Ruggles was ready to do anything rather than come in contact with his relentless foe. He bounded clear of the train, landing in a soft bit of sand, sinking almost to his knees, without harming him in the least.
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